Throw Away the Reasons
by Saere
Summary: Harry Potter was taken by the Ministry before he was able to board the train for his fifth year, but in the end, in whose hands is he really? Everyone thinks that they know something, but only a few really do. Pansy POV, eventual Harry/Pansy.
1. Prologue

**Throw Away the Reasons**

**Prologue**

If Harry Potter had to pick one truly _defining_ moment that his life finally went to shit, that night would have been it.

The teenager's breath came in short, desperate pants as he bleakly surveyed his surroundings for possible exits. Wands confidently drawn, eight Aurors stood in pairs on every side of him, guiding him towards a still undisclosed destination. Harry briefly considered saying something, anything, just to determine whether his vocal chords worked, but a pulse of energy from the magic-inhibiting collar around his neck silenced the words he was still planning out. His throat ached, dry from Merlin knows how many hours of dehydration. When was the last time he'd had anything to drink?

Harry squinted into the darkness, trying to make sense of the blurry shadows that jumped out at him. At some point in the past few days his glasses had been cracked beyond repair. He vaguely wondered why he still was wearing them. Habit, he supposed, and seeing life through a shattered perspective was somewhat favorable to being completely blind, after all.

Wincing as he stumbled over an uneven edge of the hallway's stone floor, Harry bit the inside of his cheek to stifle a small whimper. His teeth did more than graze the dry flesh because of how tense exhaustion made him. The metallic taste of blood was unwelcome but nonetheless served to help wet his cracked lips. Harry shuddered as the excess escaped his mouth to dribble in red rivulets down his chin.

The Aurors eyed the scrawny boy cautiously. They were already on edge because of their mission, and the wild unpredictability of their charge wasn't calming any nerves. Harry Potter was infamous in their circles for making miracles appear out of thin air.

No, not this time. They wouldn't allow that. This time the plan was _perfect_. The two Aurors leading the party shared a smug look. This time, Harry Potter did not stand a chance in Hell.

Not a drop of pity stained their steps. While Harry stiffened the moment he noticed a large, darkly colored shape looming in the distance--which he assumed to be a door--the group of eight officials brightened and started to get excited. This was it. Their long mission was drawing to a close, and soon, very soon, they would be greatly rewarded.

The wards on the entry way only took a second to dispel after the leading pair bared their left arms and drew blood. Rusted hinges creaking, the door swung open slowly to reveal a large room inch by inch. Harry tried frantically to determine what or even _who_ was inside the room, but with his poor eyesight the attempt was hopeless. Regardless, something about the room was off. He just couldn't put his finger on it...

"This is your stop, kiddo," one of the men behind Harry said. The others all waved their hands mockingly, teeth baring in cruel smiles, before facing something Harry couldn't see and bowing low. "Bye bye."

Harry was pushed roughly into the room, various wards and locks snapping back into place as the Aurors closed the door. Harry didn't anticipate the motion and could not stop himself from crashing to the ground. He would have been thankful for the fact that his fall was for some reason cushioned by a rug if not for the searing sensation that suddenly ran through his scar.

_No. _

It took all of Harry's strength to raise himself into a sitting position on the floor. Back weakly slumped, he rested his elbows on his knees and supported his head with a trembling arm. Finally abandoning his glasses, Harry analyzed the room. It was standard affair, consisting of a small bed, dresser with mirror, and a large, comfortable-looking arm chair.

_No._

A well-dressed--from what little Harry knew of fashion--man sat with his legs crossed in the chair, a small smirk playing at his full lips when Harry's eyes finally fell on him. His back was straight and lent an elegant air to the man's figure. Harry was tempted to breathe a sigh of relief, but the pain in his forehead only continued to intensify, spiking when the other man rose from his seat and lowered his face so that it rested only inches from Harry's.

_Please, no._

The man, curiously, looked like an older version of the Tom Riddle Harry had met over two years ago in the Chamber of Secrets.

Green eyes widened in horror.

"Hello, Harry."


	2. Chapter 1 Rumors

_"The night is sealed. If it gets disoriented and mixed up, it will end._

_If the darkness begins to get lost, don't you think we might as well throw away our reasons?"_

_--_Futuristic Imagination, School Food Punishment

**Chapter One—Rumors**

_September 1, 1995_

Hidden away in the dankest confines of Hogwarts castle, the Slytherin common room was a haven of warmth to any poor soul caught in the cold dungeons after dark. Heat from a freshly lit fire filled the area to the brim, allowing students to shed their thick outer robes and begin to relax after a long Sorting feast. The first day back at school was always the most exhausting. Because of that, the House of Slytherin had long ago established a custom that the evening of September the first, every member above a certain age (along with a large handful of people that were not quite so preoccupied by law) was required to get tastefully drunk. Usually it was to help students reconnect after a summer apart and to forget about the onslaught of assignments that would soon be coming, but that year in particular, there were more than a few reasons to party.

Casually leaning over the back of a chair, Pansy Parkinson stayed quiet through the smug celebration. She smiled brightly whenever Draco Malfoy craned his neck to look at her, nodding in agreement when required, but did nothing more. Occasionally, she took hold of her glass and sipped sparingly. Even though she relished the impression the burning liquid left as it slid down her throat, Pansy was determined to stay lucid for the discussion she knew would eventually take place. Her mind was already racing; as she watched the room's inhabitants mingle, the slight buzz she had somehow managed to attain widened the scope of her thoughts. Putting Pansy into an easy trance, brown eyes narrowed, seemingly fascinated by the swill of liquid as long, manicured fingers gently played with the cup.

Pansy realized that somewhere along the line, she had stopped truly thinking and started responding mechanically; while she did nothing to stop it, lest someone notice the change in behavior, she did question it. Times were changing, it seemed. The recent and 'preposterous'—the factions of Slytherin that actually mattered had been informed otherwise—rumors surrounding the Triwizard tournament's fatal finale were rampant in society. The Dark Lord was back, she knew. The very thought brought both anticipation and fear to Pansy. She had heard so, so much about the man that had managed to tame the wizarding world's best. Her parents were the very definition of proud, and yet even they spoke of him with such blatant veneration that it sometimes hung in the air. Pansy's every nerve waited for the day she would see their Lord for herself.

Still, since when had being a Slytherin signified subservience and a single attitude? Everyone around her was of like mind, according to the other Houses. Pansy personally knew of those with wandering ideals and did not think ill of them. Regrettably, she did have to agree that the House of Slytherin had lost much of its pride over the past few decades. The appearance was still there, but the Lord's followers frequently lowered themselves so that their leader would seem higher.

Pansy supposed she would have to bear it. Regardless of any other assumptions the outside world made, Slytherins were a family. They would always protect their own and, if needed, throw the youngest off a cliff out of love. Slytherins were designed to continually grow stronger.

In the end, Slytherins would be the ones that survived.

Pansy bent and touched her lips briefly to the paleness of Draco's cheek, chaste but firm enough to assure the other teenager of his continued power over her. With her eyes she asked for permission to sit and was answered with a brief incline of the head. Sparing the smirking blond a parting glance, Pansy avoided the grasping hands of those that had maybe had a bit _too_ much to drink as she moved to join the other fifth-year Slytherin girls on a long, emerald-green couch. They made room for her without comment.

For several minutes no serious conversation was had. Rounds of butterbeer and slightly stronger drinks were passed around, boys growing braver as the laughter of girls became more and more unrestrained. It wasn't until the Malfoy heir cleared his throat that the room sobered and came to attention.

"So," he said without bothering to conceal a trace of mockery, "it looks like the Ministry's pest control has decided to finally do its job." Draco paused to allow for quiet snickering. He held up a hand to end it. "Hogwarts is now cleansed of Harry Potter."

From beside Pansy, Daphne Greengrass carded fingers through her long, golden hair. "You don't really think he did it, do you?"

"What, Greengrass, do you _doubt _the noble Fudge?" Blaise Zabini teased. The dark-skinned boy's companions chuckled helpfully.

Daphne huffed. "Of _course _not. But really, let's look at this objectively. Potter, murdering someone? The spoiled brat is the poster boy for morality."

Pansy stared at the hands folded delicately in her lap, listening intently. She had her own doubts and concerns, but chose not to voice them in favor of gathering data. From what she knew, Harry Potter had been arrested the moment he set foot on Platform 9 ¾ that morning in what became a very public confrontation with the Ministry. Pansy sorely wished that she had been able to witness the dispute in its entirety. Instead, she would have to rely on second-hand information and whatever truths she would be able to glean from the Prophet the following morning, if any. No amount of skill in the art of reading lips and interpreting gestures had allowed her to make sense out of what she saw through the window of her train compartment.

"That's the rumor I heard, too. Apparently they found evidence he killed Diggory," someone contributed. He was much younger than most of the group. Some of the older Slytherins, Pansy included, shared a powerful look.

"Diggory? That was months ago."

"Yeah, well-"

"Then why didn't they try him over the summer?"

"No one knows where Potter lives."

"Maybe Fudge wanted as much publicity as possible."

A dozen people were all trying to inform the rest of what little they thought they knew and it once again fell to Draco to restore order.

"Quiet." The simple command was backed by clear authority. "Now, who here actually saw the arrest?"

Tracey Davis cleared her throat distinctively, making Pansy, who was on her right, shift to look at her. Draco raised an eyebrow at the soft-spoken girl.

"Um, I didn't actually see today's events, but I saw Potter at the Ministry last month. I asked Father about it later and he couldn't tell me much, except that the Wizengamot was having an emergency session about something he did. Do you think that's why they arrested him?"

"If that was the case," supplied Pansy, sounding doubtful, "the Ministry would not have waited until today to do so. There must have been another reason."

"What would your father know anyway, Davis? He was imprudent enough to marry a mudblood," called a second-year from the background, trying to sound important and witty. His face twisted unpleasantly at the hard glare the beautiful Daphne shot his way.

Tracey bristled. "Shove it—"

"Learn your place, Pritchard, or someone will learn it for you," Draco said coldly. "I can back Davis' claim. My father told me. Potter used magic during holiday and was put on trial. He got off because Dumbledore came and defended him with some fanciful claim about dementors in a muggle town or whatnot. I don't know the details."

Not a few Slytherins rolled their eyes. Dumbledore. The word was a person, an adjective, and the entire reason Potter hadn't already dropped dead.

"That still doesn't explain why the Ministry came and took him. The Minister doesn't _actually_ think he killed Diggory, does he? I suppose that with Fudge anything is possible," Daphne said, contemplative.

The room fell into silence.

"So? Anyone?" Draco again questioned.

"What about you, Malfoy? Your father is really high up."

Draco flushed in shame. "He hasn't been telling me much at my lessons recently. If he knew about this whole Potter thing ahead of time, he didn't see fit to include me."

Pansy smiled supportively. Idly playing with her hair, she allowed her gaze to sweep the room, lingering on many faces. Crabbe and Goyle made her pause. The pair was seated a row or two away from Draco, close enough to be considered near him but far enough away that they wouldn't conflict with the blond's desire for personal space. Goyle in particular looked like he had something to say, but every time he tried to open his mouth, someone would cut him off.

As yet another fourth-year girl trailed off from a comment that only served to reveal that she knew nothing of value, Pansy spoke up. "Gregory, you're awfully quiet. Did you see anything?"

The bulky brunette's head snapped to her so quickly that Pansy was afraid he would suffer from whiplash. Instead, he offered her a thankful smile. Pansy winked.

"Yeah, me 'n' Vince didn't meet up with Draco until after it happened. We were on the platform putting away our trunks when the Ministry came."

He paused to look at Crabbe. "Fudge was there with five or six Aurors. He started off accusing Harry of slanderin' the Ministry and stuff, and when Harry started arguing about You-Know-Who, this big dog went over to Fudge and looked like he wanted to bite him."

"I saw that through the window," Pansy recalled. "One of the Aurors stunned it."

"I wish it could have gotten at least one good bite in," said Blaise sadly.

Pansy grinned.

"Hey, wasn't Mad-Eye there too?" asked Tracy.

Both Crabbe and Goyle nodded in agreement. "It sounded like he knew some of the Aurors with Fudge," Goyle said. "He tried to tell them that bringing in a child for questioning was ridiculous."

"That's not all, right? Potter was _arrested_, not asked to visit for tea. I saw them throw him to the ground and bind his magic."

"They bound it?"

"That's not healthy. Potter could die."

"That may be the point," Pansy mused.

Goyle sighed. "Yeah, well, Potter and Moody both got really mad and Fudge finally ordered for the Aurors to physically restrain Potter because he was a 'danger to those around him.' It was pretty funny."

Draco had stayed silent through most of the exchange. His eyes were narrowed in thought. Crossing and uncrossing his legs, the blond tried to get comfortable while he shifted. "That sounds a lot less exciting than I expected. No matter how many made-up minor charges they throw at him, he won't get anything close to Azkaban as a sentence. It's not like he's under suspicion for murder, unless Fudge brings it up later. Without the excuse of The Dark Lord, Potter _is _the only suspect, I guess."

"I don't think that Fudge would honestly have the guts to bring that up," said Pansy thoughtfully.

Blaise disagreed. "He might if he's backed by the right people. His allies give him political confidence."

Draco hummed in thought. "Regardless, Potter will probably be back by the end of the week. I really thought that this was more serious, but now I see why my father didn't tell me anything. It's probably just Fudge being a rash idiot. Dumbledore will do something."

"You seem pretty confident about Dumbledore."

"I've learned from the past," Draco said.

The group of Slytherins continued voicing various theories, but after a while everything that could be said _had_ been said. They grew weary.

-------------

_September 4, 1995_

The first Monday of the school year came and went without much fuss. If Pansy had been expecting anything significant to change because of Harry Potter's absence, then she was sorely mistaken. Classes were the same, monotonous routine they had always been. Pansy woke early, ate breakfast with the usual crowd, and then headed to wherever her new schedule said she needed to be. Except for a disgustingly smug, toad-like Ministry official that now taught Defense Against the Dark Arts (Pansy would be keeping an eye on her), the same teachers proudly taught their subjects to the younger generation. Hogwarts remained unchanged, for the most part.

Because of this, most of Slytherin was on edge. An entire weekend had passed without a single word of mention about Potter in the media. The Ministry had not done such an obvious cover-up since the Daily Prophet's coverage of the Third Task. Pansy figured that there should have been at least one front page article that glorified the Ministry and painted Potter in as negative a light as possible. It was what everyone was used to and was expecting, so the lack of such news became increasingly unnerving with every passing day. In fact, after a long summer of constantly assuring the public that The Dark Lord was very much dead and that Harry Potter was an attention-seeking loony, it was the first time in nearly a year that the Prophet took a break from Potter.

Little differences were starting to matter, too. Although Dumbledore wisely refrained from commenting to the student body about Potter, worry was etched on every aged line of his features. During meals, he shot worried looks to the empty void beside Weasley and Granger, shaking his head with a sorry frown whenever the two raised their heads to look at him imploringly. Pansy wondered if they knew as little as she did. Hell, maybe even Dumbledore, as great as he was, was being kept in the dark in regards to Potter's stay with the Ministry. She wouldn't be at all surprised if he spent every free minute of his time trying to figure out just what was going on.

The most unsettling part was how quiet everything was. The staff was not saying anything, and when asked, professors merely shook their heads and vaguely told the students to wait until there was more information. All adult lips were sealed, leaving the students of Hogwarts with only rumors and whatever debates they held in the safety of their own House dorms. There hadn't even been a single altercation in the corridors yet, though Pansy suspected that it was only a matter of time before one of Potter's friends caved to desperation and confronted a Slytherin.

She wondered if it would even be possible to make them understand that _no one_ knew anything.

It was becoming more and more doubtful that Potter would return within a week of his arrest. Without knowing the exact charges made against him, or even whether he would stand trial, no one was willing to place bets. Pansy hoped that someone's mother or father had enough ties with the Ministry to glean accurate information that could be relayed in turn to the members of Slytherin. The curiosity was there, certainly, but mostly they were concerned about whether a main player of the war would even be in the game. Potter had the ability, it was said, to change everything.

Currently, the only possible lead was Dolores Umbridge, the nearly intolerable Defense professor that had been assigned by the Ministry after Dumbledore was unable to talk anyone into accepting the cursed position. More than once during her first lesson with the woman, Pansy's fingers had itched to whip out her wand and make the woman have to defend herself! The woman knew nothing about true defense, instead relying on politically correct textbooks and unclear advice that was likely to save the life of no one.

At any rate, Umbridge was the best and only connection Pansy might have to the Ministry at the moment. She resolved to squeeze as much as she could out of the woman, insufferable or no.

Her chance finally came the second Monday of September. After a full week of uncharacteristically avoiding any interesting or controversial topics, the Daily Prophet hosted an article that would affect Hogwarts immensely. According to the writer, Minister Fudge had seen fit to appoint Umbridge as the school's High Inquisitor, whatever that meant. Promises of educational reform and the bettering of standards were woven into nearly every sentence. Pansy snorted when she read it, a reaction that was not uncommon in the Great Hall that morning. Like many others, Pansy glanced toward the staff table to assess how the witches and wizards unfortunate enough to be Umbridge's coworkers were taking the news. Dumbledore was trying his hardest to ignore the self-satisfied smile Umbridge wore; expression grave, the twinkle that had been slowly fading over the past week had now completely vanished. Mindful of the tawdrily dressed Ministry worker sitting just down the table, he spoke in hushed tones with McGonagall about matters of no importance. The staff's two eldest did their best to appear unaffected by recent events.

Sallow-faced, it was Severus Snape that most caught the attention of his House. As their Head, he was often the one most Slytherins turned to when they simply didn't know what to make of a situation. The man was as grim as ever, but the certain fire that laced his usual movements was dimmed, outlined instead by quiet air of contemplation. He didn't necessarily seem disturbed or content, just merely _thoughtful_. Pansy found his state reassuring, and thought it best that Slytherin follow their Head's example. Up and down the table, others were coming to the same resolution. They would watch and take advantage.

Pansy spent the day paying close attention to rumors and, when she could, spending time with Draco. Her close friend had sent a carefully worded letter to his father just a few days ago, and they both were anxious to see if the man would bother with a reply. It was on their way to Defense after a break that they decided to not rely on the single thread of hope, and instead find their own footing. After a drawn out and pointless lesson with the Gryffindors, the couple waited until the classroom was clear before approaching Umbridge.

"I do not know whether my father has yet had the time to congratulate you, Madam, so please allow me the privilege of doing so on behalf of the Malfoy estate," said Draco clearly. Pansy resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

Umbridge's features contorted in a smile. Pansy was finding it hard to not comment on how the older witch's lipstick clashed horribly with the shade of pink in her clothing; she certainly would be laughing with the girls about it later.

"Thank you," Umbridge said primly. "No, I am afraid that I have not seen your father in ages. I trust that he is in good health?"

"Very much so, thank you. I know that he will have _much_ to say to me when we talk of your influence on the school. It will greatly please him that my education is in proper hands."

"Yes, yes. Hogwarts has been left to rot for far too long. The Minister got a whiff of the stench during his visits last year and immediately set out to change things. He is a great man."

Draco gestured that it was Pansy's turn to say something bland and uninteresting. They needed to continue laying the foundation for later efforts.

"Oh yes, with Dumbledore running things, we have had a very unstable and impractical education. The Defense professors before you were all under qualified and downright dangerous!" Pansy widened her eyes dramatically, appealing to the melodramatic gossip that she knew rested inside of every woman. "Why, just last year, our professor—a close friend of the Headmaster's, mind you—performed an Unforgivable on students."

Umbridge drew in a breath. "I heard about that. Most, most unfortunate."

"It _troubles_ me dearly that my test scores might suffer. Thank goodness that you are here. This is a very important year for Draco and me. I really don't know what we would have done about our O.W.L.s if the Minister didn't send you."

Draco stepped forward and put a gentle hand on Pansy's shoulder. "Yes, with your help we will not only pass, but excel. Will you only be staying the one year? It saddens me that your teaching ability won't benefit a greater number of students."

"The Minister has not informed me of any plans regarding the future, but after my tenure here, I will recommend to him the action that seems most appropriate." Umbridge smirked. "We will see what he chooses to do."

Pansy, though horribly put off by everything she had just complimented the other woman on, had to admire the sense of complete control that she possessed. Umbridge may not be a leader, but she knew how to manipulate leaders with such finesse that it really was hard to distinguish the difference. She played her game well. Pansy envied that.

She was not at _all _jealous of her style, though. As Draco and Umbridge kept trying to out-sycophant each other, Pansy examined the professor's person. Truthfully, Umbridge's fashion sense wasn't the worst Pansy had ever seen, but she utilized it incorrectly. The short curls were okay by themselves, but when matched with improper shades of makeup, any flair was lost. Bright pink clashed with Umbridge's eyes.

And Pansy pitied her for having the natural appearance of a bloated frog.

Pansy continued dissecting Umbridge's outfit, bored and left with nothing else to do. Her part for now had already been played, and she had to wait until the next cue from Draco. It had been a mutual decision to allow Draco the role of primary speaker, since he was the one with the most formal training in both politics and etiquette. Pansy was by no means from a plebian background, but her family's wealth was not as cultivated as the Malfoy's; as the Parkinson heir, Pansy had still been groomed for success, just not as much as Draco.

"I know that we all breathed a sigh of relief when Harry Potter was confronted at last." Pansy stiffened when she heard Potter's name.

"Oh?"

"He is unruly and a daily danger to his peers," Draco said slowly. "Every year, he gets caught up in some plot that puts the entire school at risk. First a professor died, then a handful of mu- poor students were hospitalized, and then a notorious mass murderer came after Potter personally."

Pansy pretended to wipe the corner of her eye. "Last year was the worst. He cheated to illegally enter a tournament, and not only did he steal the glory from the brave and honorable Cedric Diggory... he also brought back a c-corpse and then told the most horrible lie about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named coming back. I was so terrified."

Draco nodded solemnly.

"I can only assume that Potter killed poor Cedric. What do you think, Professor?" Pansy asked. Draco's grip on her tightened, and Pansy winced at the whining, girlish tone of her own voice. The question didn't come out as subtly as she hoped it would, but Pansy couldn't take it back. Eyes trained on Umbridge, Pansy and Draco waited with bated breath for an answer.

Umbridge eyed the two suspiciously, her bright smile fading in favor of a neutral, professional expression.

"I do not take particular interest in the life of a little boy. Perhaps you should read the newspaper from time to time."

With that, she nodded dismissively and turned her heel, marching to the back of the classroom where the door leading to her office was. The sound of mewling was heard only momentarily before the area lapsed back into silence. Draco and Pansy both visibly deflated.

The Ministry apparently trained its dogs well.


	3. Chapter 2 Letters

**Chapter Two—Letters**

_September 15, 1995_

There was a quiet sophistication to the way the bird flew. Its feathers gave the impression of superior grade, like a well-made brand of coat that complemented the forms of those fortunate enough to wear it. Having not expected any mail that day, Pansy wiped her mouth and nudged Draco when the slim, tawny owl glided to a smooth stop right beside her breakfast plate. Draco's eyes widened slightly when he saw it. It was his father's personal messenger owl, the one he trusted most to safely carry out a delivery. Acting slowly so as to not arouse suspicion, Draco stifled his excitement long enough to accept a taut roll of paper from outstretched talons. The bird rejoined the chaos of the Great Hall's sky once assured that its assignment was complete. As was the tradition, Draco would find his own owl if and when he needed to reply. Malfoy birds did not like waiting any more than their owners did.

The trim, elegant script of his father greeted Draco's greedy eyes.

_Dragon—_

_I find myself having to wait for an accurate weather forecast before I will be able to make plans for our next outing. The lightning's usual spark is now dead and gone, but I fear its echo lives on in the form of thunder. You'll see for yourself during the next storm. It may be soon._

_Remember your lessons and stay prepared._

_I will contact you when I next wish to speak with you. Do not write to me again._

Draco smiled wide and passed the note to Pansy as though it contained a funny joke that she simply had to be in on. Pansy, well accustomed to their system, laughed merrily at any part of the terse letter that in reality warranted a serious disposition. She then folded it, slid it back across the table, and resumed eating her meal. They would discuss its contents at a later time.

"He completely ignored my questions," Draco said a few minutes into their mid-morning break. His head rested innocently on Pansy's thighs while she fingered strands of his hair. The window seat was soft underneath them.

"Did he?" Pansy murmured. Over the years she had grown used to the coded messages Draco received from his parents. That day's was still open to interpretation, and she thought it likely that Lucius Malfoy had snuck at least _some_ valuable information into his words.

"Yes. He was even more cryptic than usual," Draco said as quietly as he could. They were alone, but sons of presumed Death Eaters could never be too careful in Hogwarts. "The only thing I got out of it is that while he sees the absence of Potter as a crippling blow to the Light, the loss didn't devastate them. I may have to be marked soon."

"I don't know, Draco. I was thinking about it during Charms. I agree with you about the initiation, but that's true for all of us. I think that your father is trying to say something else."

Draco sat up. "Like what?"

"Maybe he knows more and just doesn't think we need to be privy to it. There are countless ways to read his words. See, '_weather forecast,'"_ she pointed out. "That probably means that the pieces aren't in place yet. We need to be patient."

"That's near impossible for me," groaned Draco. He ran a long-fingered hand over his face.

"I know." She smiled.

"It's been half a month, Pansy. Absolutely _nothing_ has happened. The last four years, especially you-know-what at the end of last, all led me to believe that this year would be eventful. In a way it has, but it's like everyone is afraid to breathe in fear that the oxygen supply will somehow run out. _Someone_ out there knows something. Who? Who?!"

"Draco, keep your voice down."

He lowered his tone and leaned toward her. Hot breath caressed Pansy's ear. "I'll obey my father's wishes and refrain from writing to him again, but there are other ways of getting information. We need to know as much as we can about Potter and the Light's plan if we want to have a head start. More than anything else, I'm sure about one thing."

"The game begins soon," Pansy finished for him. Draco kissed her cheek with a fond smile on his lips.

"And we have to win."

"We will," Pansy promised, although she had no way of knowing for sure. No one did.

The day from then on was a busy one. The second week of school was coming to an end, and that meant that the professors were wrapping up their review and introductory lessons to finally concentrate on topics that meant more practice and more homework. For fifth-year students in particular, the difference in density of their workload compared to the previous year was staggering. Pansy's cautious admiration of Severus Snape was greatly lessened when he assigned them not one, but _two_ foot-long essays, both due by the end of the month. She was sorely tempted to ask the man when he found the time to grade them, but that was a question she found that she could answer for herself.

Pansy knew that in the long run she would be thankful for the extra study, but at the moment she was ready to say "screw the O.W.L.s" and just try to marry for money.

She would probably do that anyway, but she did have a reputation to uphold. Her tests scores would be more than exemplary when the time came.

Throughout the day, Pansy constantly thought about how to best do some sleuthing. Truth be told, she would have done so even without the renewed eagerness Draco got from reading his letter. The curiosity had been slowly driving her up the wall for two weeks. She kept her eyes and ears open. Adults were sadly still out of the question; Umbridge had remained stubbornly tight lipped during the few ingratiating conversations she had with Draco.

It wasn't until Hermione Granger raised her hand for the fourth time in Transfiguration that Pansy finally remembered the Gryffindors. She had occasionally watched them for their reactions to events and to see if they acted strangely, but she had yet to interrogate them.

After class, she pulled aside Tracey and Daphne, who were glued to the other's side like usual. They had a hurried deliberation about the best course of action, and then went their separate ways.

"Granger," Tracey called Saturday afternoon when she saw the Golden Trio minus one leaning against a wall. Their heads were lowered for a whispered conversation, but lifted when the bookworm's name reached their ears. Both sets of lips were pursed unhappily.

"Hello," said Granger tiredly. Weasley stood awkwardly behind her, sneaking quick glances at the group of girls from underneath his bangs. Without Draco there, his temper was relatively calm; but even if the blond had been present, the gangly boy just didn't have the passion for a one-sided argument at the moment.

Tracey gave the habitual smirk that had been especially reserved for Gryffindors.

"It occurred to me earlier that I haven't been quite as annoyed by you guys this year. I asked Daphne about the change, but neither of us can think of a reason. What is different about you? Your hair _is_ admittedly a lot less repulsive, Granger, but I don't think that's quite it. Maybe it's not something new. Maybe something's _missing_..."

Slytherins were never meant to be innocuous. They were, simply put, horrible at even pretending.

And unfortunately for them, everyone else knew it.

"I'm not in the mood for this, Davis. If you'll excuse me..." Granger hooked her arm in Weasley's and tried to push past the group of Slytherins. Giggling, Daphne watched as Weasley stumbled after her.

"What, did you two finally realize no one else would take you and hook up?"

Hermione blushed scarlet, quickly separating from her taller companion. She tucked a wayward curl behind her ear. "No, you misunder-"

"No," Weasley barked out like a dog. "We'll never date. We're just friends."

"Oh," Daphne said simply. The look on Granger's face warranted a tang of pity, making all three girls decide to give her a break. They were mean, but not cruel enough to break the female code.

Pansy stepped in front of Granger, effectively blocking the hallway. She cleared her throat. "Sorry." Granger gave a weak smile that fell when Pansy continued her train of thought. "We figured that with Potter gone, there wouldn't be any romantic competition."

Weasley took the bait. "Harry's...he's..."

"You wouldn't happen to know where he is, would you?"

Weasley snapped completely out of his state of apathy. It wasn't long until his freckled face turned a shade of red that was almost as dark as his infamous hair. "What's it to you? Do _you_ know? It makes sense that _Slytherins_ were in on it. Hermione, I bet one of their parents used Fudge to get to Harry."

"Ron, we've been over this," said Granger delicately.

"We need to tell the Or—"

"RON!"

"What?" he said, agitated.

"For once in your life, think before speaking." Granger turned to Pansy. "I don't know what the Ministry is doing to my best friend, but if you do and aren't telling me, I _will_ find out eventually. I'm leaving now and taking this moron with me."

The Slytherins stood around, waiting until the angry muggleborn was finished stomping out of sight to speak.

Tracey scratched her nose. "We sounded like we were in on a conspiracy and taunted them about it..."

Pansy and Daphne agreed. "I don't think that I'm very good at speaking to Gryffindors. Maybe I should have waited until Draco was done with Quidditch practice to approach them," Pansy reflected.

"No, Weasley would have hexed him and we'd have all lost points," Daphne said. "Draco is smart, but he's not at all subtle and there's too much animosity between him and Potter's friends. Weasley would have attacked Draco and accused his father of kidnapping Potter."

Pansy secretly considered that out of all their parents, Lucius Malfoy _was_ the most likely to have talked Fudge into arresting Potter. Still, it was always most sensible to avoid conflict whenever possible.

Was Potter ever going to return to Hogwarts?

-------------

_October 1, 1995_

"Curses, foiled again," Tracey said blandly as she sat down to dinner. Her pureblood friends just stared at her.

The tired brunette sighed. "Ah, whatever. Anyway, the plan didn't necessarily work as we thought it would."

"What went wrong?" Pansy frowned, placing her fork gently down so that she could listen.

"A prefect caught me trying to sneak into the tower. I lost ten points for being there on a weekend without permission. That was a good idea though, Blaise. It would have been a good laugh if that old bat actually knew something."

"Trelawney was the only one I could think of... we've tried everything else, haven't we?" Blaise pondered.

Across from Pansy, Draco was aimlessly picking at his food, thinking. He looked disappointed. "I'm starting to wonder if Fudge accidentally killed Potter and is seeing how long he can keep it quiet. That, or he's waiting to put the blame on someone else."

Pansy took a bite of her own roast beef and swallowed before talking. "Who knows," she said dismissively. "Dumbledore looks positively abysmal today, doesn't he? He probably is exhausting all of his time and resources on pressuring the Minister into revealing what happened to Potter."

Sure enough, the staff table's characteristic gaiety was stagnated by the disheartened Headmaster at its center. The wizened old man's typically prim and proper beard was beginning to show signs of fraying, and Pansy was almost positive that his dress robes were the same design as the day before. It wasn't like the Headmaster to go more than a single day without modifying the eccentricity of his outfit. Pansy stared at him thoughtfully.

"I almost pity him," she added.

Five minutes later, Pansy politely withdrew from the table's playful banter and stood, smoothing out her skirt. She waved goodbye to her friends, giving them the excuse that she had some studying to do. It was true, but mostly Pansy just wanted some time to herself.

Her hand was mere inches away from pushing the Great Hall's thick, massive doors when a person on the other side pulled, startling Pansy. She stepped back, taken by complete surprise to see a tall, unfamiliar black man step through the narrow crack and into the hall. He ran, panting, toward the staff table. Each person that he passed on the way immediately quieted down, until only the high-pitched laughter of a second-year Ravenclaw could be heard in the room. The young girl reddened and clamped a hand over her mouth, enabling near silence.

The dark-skinned man came to a halt in front of Dumbledore, who rose from his seat and walked around the table until the two were face to face. The Headmaster's gaze wildly did a sweep of the room.

"Ms. Parkinson, would you be so kind as to close the door and reclaim your seat? Thank you, dear."

A hundred heads all swiveled to Pansy, filling her with the kind of discomfiture that came with the intensity of a sudden spotlight. She stared at her feet for a few moments before setting her jaw and making the long walk back to her original place beside Tracey.

"Now, Kingsley. What happened?"

The man named Kingsley had by then regained his breath, but spoke quickly. "It's the Minister, sir. Fudge. He's coming. He's coming to Hogwarts."

Loud whispering broke out like wildfire.

Dumbledore brightened. "Well then, I think it best that we take this to my office and prepare for his arrival. I have quite a few things to discuss with him."

"No, you don't understand. He's incredibly angry. He sent me to demand immediate entrance through the wards."

Pansy sat down. "Who is that?"

Draco leaned across the table, holding his tie so that it wouldn't be dirtied by food. "I don't know his name, but it looks like he's an Auror. One of Dumbledore's, probably. Definitely not ours."

"How much time do we have?" Dumbledore asked.

Kingsley responded without hesitation. "Not even a minute."

"Very well. It appears I have no other choice."

Dumbledore closed his eyes and concentrated for several moments, apparently communing with the school. Pansy wasn't too familiar with the details given in _Hogwarts, A History_, but the fact that across the hall Granger was explaining something to Weasley was an indicator that Pansy was probably correct.

After what seemed like only seconds, the doors reopened with a bang; there was such force behind the motion that only the doors' magical attributes prevented them from crashing into and denting the walls. Fudge stormed the room with a full squad of Aurors behind him. He struck an imposing figure, and most of the younger students in other houses gasped in awe. Pansy merely quirked an eyebrow.

"Dumbledore!" Fudge shouted. His voice resonated, easily broadcasting his rage.

"Cornelius," Dumbledore said loudly, spreading his arms as a friendly gesture. "We welcome you to Hogwarts. I admit my surprise at your sudden appearance, but am very glad to see you... I am afraid that all of my recent letters to you were lost in the post. Owl mail is not always the most dependable form of communication. Perhaps if you were to reconnect our floo networks?"

Fudge and his posse fanned out to form a half-circle around Dumbledore. Apologetic, Kingsley withdrew and joined them.

"Quit it, Albus. I demand to know where you have hidden him!"

"I beg your pardon?"f

"Where is Harry Potter?"

Dumbledore looked like he had just been slapped. "You mean that you don't have him anymore?" he said gravely, face having lost all of its color.

"You already knew the answer to that. Where. Is. He?"

"Cornelius, I haven't seen Mr. Potter in over a month. I was under the impression that the military was holding him until he could stand trial for defamation of the Fudge administration..."

"Do you honestly expect me to believe that? I know that you have members of your vigilante group hidden in the ranks of _my_ Ministry. One of them must have told you how to get to the maximum security ward."

"Maximum security? The Ministry's holding cells don't have anything like that. Dangerous prisoners are always sent to the lower...levels of..." Dumbledore trailed off.

The Headmaster's aura suddenly flared, paralyzing the onlookers with apprehension. "Cornelius. If you value your own life, please tell me that you did not send a fifteen-year-old child to the maximum security sect of Azkaban. He was your only chance for survival."

"Is that a threat? Minister, you could arrest him," Umbridge shrilly said from her seat.

Fudge ordered his giddy undersecretary to be silent. "She's right, you know. I however am far more interested in finding the escaped convict Harry Potter right now."

Dumbledore drew his wand. Poised menacingly in the air, the shaft of wood was ready for anything that came its way. "And I myself am curious how you managed to completely ignore your conscience and send Mr. Potter to a living hell! More specifically, how you were able to do so without the explicit permission of the Wizengamot."

"You aren't the Supreme Mugwump anymore, Albus, and there are loopholes for everything. It wasn't hard to convince a few key people of how dangerous the boy is to society. He is clearly insane," Fudge hissed. Pansy had to strain her ears to hear him. The people closest to the back were not-so-discreetly creeping forward in order to catch the Minister's next words. "Can't you look past your notions of character for a moment and see him for what he is, Albus? Your support of his hallucinations made him completely delusional. And you were even willing to break into _Azkaban_ to retrieve him? Again, I demand that you hand Harry Potter over to the Ministry. If you refuse to be compliant, I am fully prepared for your arrest."

"I do not have him."

"We all know that you're lying. You must be."

"Mr. Potter is most probably in the hands of the Dark Lord, Voldemort."

Fudge flinched. "We do not speak his name," he said acidly.

"How do you expect to fight Voldemort when the fear of a name makes you tremble like a cowering animal?"

"This has gone far enough, Albus! He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named perished in 1981. While I am thankful for Harry Potter's success back then, you are giving him more credit than he is due. Now then." Fudge beckoned a handful of Aurors forward. "Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, by Ministry mandate you are hereby—"

"For your own goddamn sake, listen to me, Cornelius! Open your eyes to the truth!" Dumbledore bellowed at the top of his lungs. "Lord Voldemort was resurrected earlier this year. He must have been the one to kidnap Harry."

"There were no signs of struggle. He must have gone willingly when he saw it was you!"

"Are you in your right mind? He had been in Azkaban for weeks! He did not have the energy in him to so much as move. Of course he was in no state to resist Death Eaters!"

"SHUT UP! By Ministry mandate you are hereby stripped of your powers as Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Previous privileges and responsibilities will be accorded to your Deputy under the supervision of Dolores Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary of the office of Minister of Magic, until further notice. Due to your suspected role in the escape of Harry Potter from Azkaban prison, you will also be magically restrained and held for further questioning. You have no rights."

Dumbledore covered his face with both hands, one still tightly clenched around his wand. "You've doomed not only yourself but thousands of people, Cornelius. You are going to _die_," he croaked, disconsolate.

Fudge swiveled to face an Auror. Spittle flying, he gesticulated like a mad man. "Do you hear this nonsense? Hurry and arrest him!"

"I will find him. To whom it may concern," the heartbroken Headmaster said eerily, a harsh glint springing to life in his eye, "the phoenix still flies."

With a crack that echoed loud and clear like the final toll of a bell, Albus Dumbledore apparated away from Hogwarts, leaving Pansy and hundreds of other people gaping at the empty space in the middle of the long, polished table that presided over meals at the school.

It only took seconds for the tense atmosphere to dissolve into complete chaos. Countless comments were made as everyone tried to deduce what the hell had just happened, the resulting noise giving Fudge the worst headache of his career. It was almost comical to watch the expressions dancing across his face as he lived his own personal nightmare. Any Aurors that tried to apparate after the Headmaster were teleported several feet away, where they landed in bruised, disheveled heaps. Some, like Kingsley, stood to the side, mouths set into grim lines while they waited for orders.

Pansy and Draco's eyes were locked as they both puzzled over recent events. After a month of trying to gain even a sliver of information, it was too much at once for their brains to handle. Fudge had foolishly provided every Hogwarts student with the facts that he had strived so hysterically to keep out of the press. It was all at their fingertips now.

And yet, Pansy found herself no closer to an answer than she had been an hour previously. If anything, she had an entirely new set of questions and theories that all merged into one giant mess in her head.

"Students," came the rough brogue of Minerva McGonagall after several attempts to talk over the masses. "Students!"

The room, however restless, settled out of raw inquisitiveness.

The thin Scotswoman cast _Sonorus_ so that she wouldn't have to scream over outbreaks of excited mutters. "Contingency plans dictate that in the absence of the Headmaster, as Minister Fudge so kindly explained, all powers pass to his Deputy. That would be me. Now, I would appreciate it if the prefects would help guide their Houses back to their respective commons. An early curfew will be in effect approximately twenty-five minutes from now."

"Now wait just a minute!"

"Is there a problem, Minister?"

"How did he do that?"

It was Filius Flitwick that answered. The spritely man peered down his nose at Fudge. "When he changed the wards to allow your lot in, he enabled emergency apparation for professors. I felt the original setup snap back into place once he left."

Pansy was incredibly impressed by the Headmaster's foresight. That was rather Slytherin of him. Mirrored by dozens of other students, she began to collect her things for the second time that night. She was more than anxious to get back to the common room.

Students from the middle two tables brushed past Fudge, bumping shoulders with the dumbfounded man as though he wasn't the single most powerful politician in their world. His fancy bowler hat was tilted, threatening to fall off of his balding head.

"Monday classes will continue as scheduled tomorrow," Minerva announced. "Minister, I thank you for the visit. It was most informative." She gave the man a heated look of disgust, her cutting accent clearly relating her displeasure with the man that had taken a prized Gryffindor from her. "If you don't mind, I have a school to run."

"I—"

"You have a convict and his accomplice to find, correct? Please leave," she grit out.

"Right, right. Aurors!"

Pansy and her group of friends left the room as one, old enough that they didn't need to be told where to go. Prefects and a few seventh-year Slytherins stayed behind to help younger, slower students collect themselves as quickly as possible. Draco and Pansy eventually fell behind, having purposefully slowed their steps to share a private moment of recollection together. There wasn't much new that could be said, but both found comfort in summarizing and analyzing the disappearance—once again, it seemed—of Potter.

Just outside of the stairwell that led to the dungeons, an Auror rested inconspicuously against a suit of armor that was giving him occasional looks of annoyance. When the enchanted item prodded him with its fist, the officer responded with a nasty glare before slinking away, back toward the main Hogwarts lobby. A slip of paper fell out of his robes, fluttering to the stone ground.

Draco bent to pick it up. He tried handing it to the Auror. "This is yours."

The man was plain and easily forgettable, with mousy brown hair and a straight nose. He smiled sheepishly at the two teenagers. "Nah, man, that's not mine. You can just throw it away."

Frowning, Draco unfolded the wad, and then with a gasp pulled Pansy to his side. She stared.

"Draco, it's blank. Let's put it in the next rubbish bin we see." Pansy tried to start walking down the stairs, frustrated when Draco held her tight and kept letting other students pass them in the hallway.

"Give it a minute," he muttered.

Pansy continued gawking at it. Finally, two minutes after Draco had first had contact with the paper, words formed.

_Treat your friends to some sweets._

The moment it registered, the couple shared a triumphant smile. Their first Hogsmeade weekend was coming up.


	4. Chapter 3 Codes

**Chapter** **Three–Codes**

_October 7, 1995 – PART ONE_

It was raining when Pansy stepped into Honeydukes that afternoon. Had Pansy's life been a story she would have taken the weather as a sign for things to come, but it wasn't, and so Pansy simply grimaced at the caked mud that defiled her precious shoes and lowered the hood of her cloak. Draco made short work of spelling their persons immaculate when he entered the building right after her, allowing the door to swing slowly shut behind him. There would have been a sudden silence as the door separated Pansy from the gushing rain if not for the abrasive loudness of Honeydukes' patrons. Pansy tried to take a deep, cleansing breath, but the air in the room was limited and humid. She grabbed a hold of Draco's bony elbow, eying younger children with undisguised disdain. For a sweets shop Pansy supposed the place was tolerable, but the third years seemed to be enjoying their first Hogsmeade visit a bit too much. She sensed the beginnings of a headache.

The two Slytherins pushed their way through the crowded store. Bright, gaudy displays were everywhere, almost making Pansy forget why she was there. Unpleasing hues of orange and green nearly killed her vision. She idly wondered why they had been requested gather in such a place. It was so... _childish_. So innocent.

Then again, perhaps that very impression was the reason. Fifteen-year-olds wouldn't seem at all out of place in a swarm of children, no matter who was looking.

Slytherins were born knowing how to take advantage of subterfuge and discretion. In an unobtrusive corner, surrounded by aisles of chocolate confectionaries, the slim form of Theodore Nott stood browsing. The innocence of the scene was clouded only by his House loyalties.

Pansy tugged Draco in the beautiful boy's general direction, ignoring the blond's whine of protest at being led.

"Hey, Theo. Find anything good?"

Theo brushed a few wet strands of black hair out of his eyes, making Pansy draw her wand and use a cosmetic spell she wasn't surprised he didn't know. Men always knew the basics, but it was usually only the girls–and Draco–that bothered learning hair magic. She giggled at the surprised look Theo gave when he felt his hair revert to its usual style.

"Er, thanks, and no. There are a few things I might come back to get around Christmas, but for now I'm good." He lowered his voice. "Remind me again why I'm here?"

"My father asked me to gather the ready here today. I suspect that we'll be approached soon," whispered Draco.

"You got all of that from '_treat your friends to some sweets'_? How?"

"I'm a Malfoy," Draco said, as though that explained everything. In a way, it did. Theo nodded.

"I still don't understand why I'm the only one other than you two, though. Shouldn't Blaise, at the very least, be here? He's smarter than me, and a good friend."

Draco casually knocked a cluster of candies off of the nearest shelf, and then bent to pick them back up. Theo and Pansy kneeled beside him, keeping their ears close to his head while they helped. "The older students have probably already been talked to by another representative. It was my responsibility to inspect and then pick and choose from our year. I chose you and Pansy because of the maturity and intellect you've displayed in understanding the current times. The others, like Blaise, are not quite up to our level yet. They need to shed some notions of vanity, as I'm sure that this year will make them do."

Pansy accepted the refilled box and placed it back on its rack. "How long do you think we will have to wait?"

"I'm not sure," Draco answered, "but hopefully not too long. Maybe he'll send the metamorphmagus again."

"Metamorphmagus? Those are so rare," Theo said reverentially.

Pansy smiled at him. "It was actually your father that managed to find him. He rescued the man while scouting in America over the summer. After discovering his ability, he swayed him to our side."

Theo found that difficult to believe. "My father? _My_ father? You're kidding me. He wouldn't help anyone unless positive it would benefit him."

"In the end, it _did,_" Draco corrected. "And your father's not a _complete_ bastard. He saved Don from one of those metamorphmagi-obsessed sex addicts that pop up every so often."

"Don? You even know his _name_? How come you two know so much that I don't?"

"I'm a Malfoy."

"I'm dating a Malfoy."

Theo gaped for a few seconds before allowing a fit of chuckles to wrack his body. His serious, fine-boned face lit up in a rare moment of laughter. "You guys are hopeless," he chided. Draco pretended to be affronted.

Pansy, however, joined in the merriment. Somewhere in the back of her mind she was considering the pros and cons of displaying happiness; such obvious emotion helped them blend into the atmosphere of their vibrant surroundings, but because of their conversation she didn't want to draw any unnecessary attention. For the most part, though, she was enjoying joking with someone other than Draco.

"Draco's the one that has actually met him, though. I just saw him briefly last weekend when he delivered Mr. Malfoy's note. I didn't even know it was him until later."

Theo continued asking questions about the mysterious new player in the war, but Pansy had no answers to give him and Draco was preoccupied with scanning unfamiliar faces for a hint of recognition. After casting a quick tempus charm, Pansy eventually persuaded her companions to roam the store with her, under the pretense of shopping. They had been standing still for far too long, which was never a good thing.

It was finally Theo that inadvertently discovered the man they were sure had been sent to gather them. Turning a busy corner, the teenager collided with a soft body. Theo was tall for a fifteen-year-old, but the other person, an obvious adult, won by a good three inches.

"Well aren't _you_ a cutie?"

Theo glanced up and then staggered back, blushing. He had walked directly into a twenty-something woman. Normally that wouldn't be any big deal, but she had some of the largest breasts he had ever seen on a human being of moderate slenderness. He surely wasn't the only one to notice, because boys of all ages were sneaking not-so-furtive peeks at the bouncing appendages while she sauntered closer to get a clear look at Theo. If possible, her chest seemed to swell even larger.

A full set of lips quirked upwards when she noticed Theo's stare. "Sorry 'bout that, hun. I guess I wasn't _watching_ where I was going." Theo's gaze gravitated to her face, and he found it to be just as beautiful as the breasts. Wavy red hair framed stunning, unforgettable features that were alight with mischief. He smiled sheepishly back.

"No, it I who should apologize. Please forgive me."

The older woman laughed deeply, snaking a sure arm around Theo's neck. She grinned. "I can think of a few ways that would be possible," came the throaty purr. Theo reddened to an even darker shade of humiliation.

Pansy nudged Draco, asking him a silent question. He smirked, making her return her attention to the interaction with blinking eyes.

"Excuse me, Miss, but I would like to rejoin my friends," Theo tried civilly, managing to escape the large breasts pressing against his torso.

Pansy stiffened when bright, unnaturally blue orbs–orbs, for they truly were unlike anything she had ever seen–switched to her.

"This your girlfriend?"

Theo shook his head in denial. "No, she's with Draco Malfoy, the one right beside her."

The woman took in the aristocratic upturn of Draco's nose, and the blinding whiteness of his hair. "A Malfoy? I read about one in the papers sometimes. He's an older bloke."

"That would be my Father, _Miss,_" Draco responded.

"Ah, yes. Speaking of money," the redhead rapidly changed the subject, "you wouldn't happen to be interested in some free samples, would ya? You lot are in Honeydukes, after all, and a poor salesgirl's gotta earn her living somehow. The owner told me I needed to get rid of at least half the case. Bastard."

Theo, still blushing faintly, averted his eyes. "No, thank you."

"Aw, come on, handsome. Be a doll and treat your friends to some sweets." Cocking an eyebrow, she gestured to the rattan basket resting snugly against her wide hip.

Rendered unable to speak, Theo paled. Draco, sympathetic, rested one hand on his shoulders while outstretching the other. "We'll take three, Don," he murmured lowly.

Don threw his head back and laughed girlishly, taking ridiculous amounts of mirth from the pallor of the boy he had just been teasing. He batted long eyelashes. "It's Kora now," he said coyly, reaching into the container at his side. "Merlin, this was more fun than killing that Auror. He was so plain. Here ya go. Enjoy now!"

Sashaying away, Don blew a kiss at Theo, reveling in the reaction it warranted. He couldn't wait to see the kid again, but first things came first; he needed to find an opportunity to slip away from the damn store and finish framing the owner for murder. Fun, fun. "You have a powerful name, Mr. Malfoy. _Use it well_," he called before disappearing into a throng of students and slyly cancelling the aural obscuring charm he had cast. It was best to never fully trust the subtlety of children during assignments, a lesson he had learned years ago.

Theo grunted, embarrassed and not at all amused. Pansy, smiling slightly, randomly selected a few boxes of candy and paid for them. Once the purchases were snugly inside of the bag she was handed, the trio left Honeydukes, grateful for the fresh air that immediately assaulted their senses. The rain had stopped, leaving only an endless expanse of grey sky that stretched in all directions overhead. Pansy was reminded of how well and truly isolated the tiny village of Hogsmeade was. Hogwarts castle brooded ominously in the distance, a perfect neighbor to the looming darkness of the Forbidden Forest. The fortress had never looked less welcoming than it did through the fog.

Hopefully, they would not have to return to Hogwarts for many hours to come. The three Slytherins strolled down the cobbled street that separated two rows of tiny, cramped houses, keeping their thoughts to themselves until a safe distance from the bulk majority of shoppers.

"Here," Draco said as he distributed the three chocolate bars Don had given him. "PK, surname code-type. You know what to do."

No significant affirmation was needed. Pansy, placing her bar in the bag she was carrying, waved goodbye once there was a witness or two. "This humidity is not good for my hair," she moaned. "I'm going to go find a washroom. I'll meet up with you two later for lunch." Generally she would have been as discreet as possible, but contrary to popular belief, it was much easier to disappear if you did so openly. She had no idea of knowing who would follow their silent group around a shaded corner, so it was better to just announce going to a public place.

Draco and Theo slipped into the busiest store they could find while Pansy took off in the opposite direction. She stared mostly at the dirty ground while she walked, and so it wasn't until she reached a collection of clothing stores that she noticed Hermione Granger trailing her. The bushy-haired bookworm ignored the sneer sent her way, painfully obvious in her attempt to look innocent. She did not seem to realize that the mere absence of Weasley was an indicator that she was up to something. Pansy closed her eyes, her earlier headache coming back in full force. Granger could not have picked a worse time to be nosy.

After checking her hair in a bathroom mirror–just in case the other girl had been eavesdropping longer than she suspected–Pansy skimmed the merchandise of various boutiques. For forty _painful_ whole minutes she forced herself to part with galleons as she maintained a façade and tried to shake Granger off. The attempt was more difficult than it really should have been. Pansy was overly conscious of the time, worried that she was missing something vitally important. Theo and Draco were surely waiting for her.

It was after she'd purchased an outfit that was only slightly different from the one she was wearing that Pansy apparently became a wasted endeavor for Granger. The Gryffindor frowned at Pansy in clear disgust, and dejectedly wandered off.

Pansy breathed a sigh of relief that was quickly swallowed by extreme anxiety. Briskly, she accelerated her steps to a near run as she made a beeline for _The Three Broomsticks_. The moment she raced inside, her eyes wildly swept the room for a place she could get lost in. A narrow hallway branching off from the left of the stairs was perfect. Making an effort to further her alibi, Pansy weaved her way through the crowd without discretion, also rustling in her bags for the chocolate bar that would serve as her portkey to wherever Draco and Theo currently were. The hush that surrounded her when she passed the stairs was chilling. Whoever was in charge of the pub's charm upkeep must have taken pity on visitors that wanted to escape noise for a blissful moment or two, as it made perfect sense that the second floor and side hallways of the first wouldn't want to be bothered by the loud chaos of a lively restaurant.

Greatly unnerved by the ferocity of her own heartbeat, Pansy moved further and further down the well-lit corridor, intent on finding an isolated spot. She finally found a somewhat private washroom and, after checking in every direction, she inaudibly entered. Her initial survey led her to believe the room completely vacant. Pansy let out a shaky breath that she wasn't aware she had been holding.

Gods, Draco was going to be so disappointed with her tardiness. Her stomach clenched.

Hurriedly, Pansy fully withdrew the chocolate bar she had been allocated. She briefly found herself wondering what would happen if she ate a part of it. Would it still function as a portkey? Pansy did not particularly want to find out, or risk being even later. She moved so that she was leaning with her back against the wall beside the door and prepared herself. Long fingers wrapped around the candy, careful to not crush it.

_3...2...1..._

No matter how carefully her plans were laid, the irony of life was that something had to go wrong. The door swung open and a young girl brushed shoulders with Pansy just as the brunette was whispering, "_Malfoy."_

There was nothing, absolutely _nothing_, Pansy could do as the world around her faded, replaced instead by a myriad of confusion that focused only on the petite figure beside her. Her initial instinct was to wrap her arms tightly around the smaller female, who would have surely gone careening away in her inexperience. She appeared to be a Hufflepuff, though it really was hard to be sure of because of casual clothing. It was certain that she was a third-year, though, and even more so that she had never used a portkey before.

_Mudblood._ The word flooded Pansy's thoughts like a bad disease, and she had to consciously tighten her grip to stop herself from letting the other girl be forever lost in the portkey's magical, chaotic whirl. The word became a repetitive mantra. She would not let it convince her.

The Hufflepuff was squirming in her arms, understandably scared of what was going on around her.

"Don't move," Pansy said, though the advice sounded hollow even to her own ears. "You could die." The girl went limp. She had yet to faint, but she was boneless with fright.

Why had Pansy been so careless? Thinking back, she knew she should have stood on the other side of the door. It opened inward, and Pansy had been situated so that she was right next to the piece of wall it opened from. Had she been on the opposite end, she would have been pressed between the door and the wall, which would both conceal her and prevent accidental human contact. What would she do? She strained her brain for a way of immediately wiping the girl's memory and perhaps even sending her back to Hogsmeade before anyone noticed she was gone.

Or maybe if she were to just _let go._

Pansy was denied the decision as the whirlwind faded. The magical transportation had really only taken half a minute, but Pansy felt as though she had just suffered an entire lifetime of mental and physical regret. She stood there awkwardly trying to reclaim some sense of balance, thin arms still firmly cradling the muggleborn.

The first sound to hit her ears was silence. The second was whistling. Softly, a melodious, dulcet tune carried through the air and washed over Pansy, filling her with the kind of surreal nostalgia that comes with forgotten familiarity.

The third was _"Avada Kedavra."_

Pansy screamed when the terrified girl clutching at the front of her blouse loosened her grip and crumpled to the cold ground, dead.

"Ah, shit. My bad," a deep voice rumbled. "I keep telling myself that I shouldn't kill kids, but what can I say. Reflexes." He shrugged his shoulders, offering a pale hand to Pansy. "Hello again!"

A lingering sensation of touch haunted Pansy's torso. Arms that were still poised in the air retracted to cuddle her middle, providing minimum comfort. Pansy stared blankly at her feet. The unfortunate corpse was there, a halo of blonde hair splaying around a white face in tribute to the bloodless death.

Pansy felt neither sadness nor pity.

It was emptiness that consumed her. Just moments before, she had begrudgingly decided to allow another human their right to life, and then... and then the man before her had reflexively opposed her choice.

She straightened her posture, unsettled. "Who are you?" she demanded.

Light grey hair accompanied a young face, creating a paradox of features that made Pansy wary of the man. He smiled indulgently, baring white teeth that were too perfect.

"My friends know me as Don. I'd like to think that we're friends by now, Ms. Parkinson."

Pansy swallowed dryly. "Oh."

Don was even taller than he had been at Honeydukes, and wiry in a way that was appealing but not as aberrant as physical experimentation could have made him. It was obvious that he had developed his talents to an extent that made him a master in his field.

"Is that what your base form looks like?" Pansy couldn't help but ask.

"My face? Certainly, or at least what I looked like ten years ago. The height and body are estimations, while the hair is just plain cool. It's not flashy, but it's still different."

Don banished the Hufflepuff's prone body with a casual flick of his wand, acting for all the world like it was merely a speck of dust. Starting to walk, he gestured for Pansy to follow, and Pansy did.

She was starting to warm up to the older man. "How old are you?"

He grew breasts and winked at her. "Ladies don't give information like that away for free, hun." His chest flattened again, and he continued leading her through what Pansy was quickly piecing together as a house. It wasn't any of her friends' as far as she knew, and if she were to take a wild guess, she would even label it as a tastefully decorated muggle manor. She had materialized in a small bedroom that did not reveal the size of the building, but as Pansy was guided down a long expanse of hallway, a simple glance out of a tall, double-hung window revealed that she was on at least the third floor. She wondered if there were any floors above her.

"You are very late," Don continued as they walked, his voice tempered with displeasure. "The Lord will not be happy if he discovers this."

"The Lord? He's here? Are we to be marked?" Pansy found it the greatest of ironies that she would perhaps be meeting the Dark Lord in a muggle establishment, during a day of fine weather. It was sunny wherever they were, and sunlight trickled through the windows, warming her skin.

"Perhaps. Now, I'm going to ignore your little mistake earlier in light of there being more important matters at hand, but if something similar happens again, your parents will be informed."

Pansy was struck with the thought that Don sounded more like a chiding school teacher rather than the man that had just murdered her thirteen-year-old carryon, but she nodded in obeisance anyway. "Yes sir."

"Fantastic! And make sure to not tell anyone about it. Even with that old coot everyone's talking about gone, I don't trust you Brit kids with secrets. Now then." He took her down two flights of stairs and stopped before the entrance to a large ballroom. "You're one lucky bitch. Malfoy and the cute little boy arrived nearly half an hour ago, but the Lord won't show up for another hour or two. You're free to breathe a sigh of relief; unless someone tattles on you, which I don't think they will, you'll appear before him at the same time. Now go!"

Pansy summoned every ounce of courage she possessed. Donning a disturbingly calm smile, she crept into the ballroom. There were only a few people assembled there, so it took only a few hesitant moments to locate Draco and Theo. She blushed at the dissatisfaction she saw in her boyfriend's gaze, but reveled in the acceptance that laced his smile. The brunette wordlessly took a seat beside him.

Nothing was said because of the company they held. As the children of the group, the three Slytherins sat in the very back and were farthest away from the ornately carved throne that was placed front and center. Pansy at first found it to be a bit silly, but the presence it commanded dissuaded her from the perception. It was indicative of greatness.

To the right of the room, Lucius Malfoy was surrounded by an assortment of Death Eaters. Some she knew well, but most were unfamiliar to her. Pansy was significantly disappointed to not see her own parents among their ranks. Strangely enough, Severus Snape was not there either. Pansy was oddly relieved.

The mood of the gathering was stiff with etiquette. Pansy ached to talk, but she managed to remain silent until the very air became thick with power.

It was impossible to not gasp during her first sighting of the Dark Lord.

* * *

**Chapter four is almost done. Harry will be in chapter five.**


End file.
